


Corpse Flower

by JadeLotus (Lotusflower85)



Series: A Year in the Life [11]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, gffa halloween time!, mild horror elements but nothing too spooky or graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-08-10 02:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16461455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lotusflower85/pseuds/JadeLotus
Summary: At midnight, the Corpse Flower will bloom and the Rift will open, bringing forth the dead.





	1. Chapter 1

_A galaxy is born in fire; the collapse and crash of matter drawn together before spiralling apart.  Following the chaos of creation there is silence as the stars find their bearings, as dust and rock bind into planets, as orbits settle and solar systems form.  For a long time there is little else, the galaxy is a vast and lonely place before the first spark of life, before the energy that connects all brings forth that which will end the silence._

_The first children of the galaxy were the Celestials, those with the very hearts of stars.  They seeded themselves throughout the systems, settling on planets as caretakers and guides, a conduit between the ethereal and physical planes.  Their children became the wind and the rain, the mountains and the earth, the seas and the skies, encouraging the evolution of new life, nurturing each new species to sentience, and a select few to sapience._

_It was the latter that named them, looked up to them as spirits and gods, forged their cultures around them and learned under their tutelage.  Eellayin the mistress of flame, Antipodea of the sand and sky, Gwyndylline the lover, Preeni Pi the faerie queen, Serpent bringer of life, Alderea the Great Mother, Nabeire the Lady of the Lake, and others spread across the galaxy._

_But not all Celestials were goodly and kind. Like the Force from which they were born, they were drawn to either the light or the dark, to nurture and cherish life, or to destroy it.  This was long before the Sith or the Jedi, before the Force was defined and controlled - there was no need for the Celestials kept life in balance, and for a time there was only peace; a golden age whose twilight came too soon._

_It started with one who turned against his kin, whose iniquitous heart craved power and dominion over all others.  The Celestials were bound by their own code not to directly interfere with mortal life, but one defied this most sacred commandment and began to collect acolytes, turning their hearts to darkness, granting them unnatural powers in exchange for devoted service.  Soon his entire planet was enslaved but that was not enough to sate his ambition. His cult spread through the systems, and other Celestials began to join his cause, for why should they settle for anything less than ultimate power?_

_The Celestial Wars raged for a thousand years; billions were slain and half the galaxy was lain to waste.  In the end the light triumphed, as it always does, but not without great cost and the promise of dark’s return._

_The evil one was stripped of his name, yet he could not be destroyed.  It was on Helel that the Unnamed One made his last stand, his followers whittled down to the Witches of Fury who circled their master and raised their arms to the sky.  They would not let him be taken, and bound his soul within a flower they had cultivated in the blood-soaked earth, and nurtured with the bones of their many victims. Their power spent, the witches turned to stone, protecting their master even in death, watchful guardians for the day he would return and bring with him the souls of the damned._

_The victory was bitter for those that remained; they could no longer live among those they had failed so utterly.  One by one they left - some say they returned to the Force, others that they fled to another, younger galaxy where they could live in peace.  Of course there are those who believe a few remained, that they still live among us, watching over us as they did in the beginning._

_Millennia_ _passed, and the Celestials faded into legend, with only the most devout followers remaining, those who saw truth in myth and power in belief.  Many were forgotten entirely, lost to time and neglect._

_But the Unnamed One was not forgotten, for the flower remains on Helel - it does not grow and it does not bloom, but neither will it die._

_It simply waits._

* * *

“You don’t believe all that nonsense do you?”  Mara inspected the Corpse Flower in the centre of the ballroom that had been built around it.  It was twice as tall and wide as she was, with a green conical stem and amber petals tightly pressed around the base.  Not the prettiest flower she had ever seen, and certainly not the most interesting.

“It’s an intriguing story,” Luke shrugged, pressing his hand against one the thirteen stone pillars that surrounded the flower.  “There certainly is a vergence of the Force here, an...ill will. Can’t you feel it?”

“I feel the ill will of whoever planned this ball,” Mara said, “no doubt they’ll put on a show, maybe scare up some donations.”

“You doubt us, sister?” A low, breathy voice asked, and Mara turned to see a tall, pale woman with long black hair and flowing vermillion robes.  Her dark eyes were unnaturally large, and she stared at them, unblinking.

“The prophecy says that our Lord will be released tonight,” she said.  “I hope your soul is prepared.”

Mara appreciated a good con as much as the next person, and smiled.  “Sure is.”

“And what demons do you have among the dead?” The witch turned to Luke.  

“No demons,” Luke told her, almost wistfully.  “Only friends.”

The witch stepped close to him, pressing her hand against his on the stone.  “That is not what my sister says.” She looked at the pillar, and then back at Luke.  “You would be wise to fear what is waiting for you in the Rift.”

“The Rift?” Mara asked - that hadn’t come up in her research, as far as she had been able to discover the acolytes on Helel predicted the release of their dark master, and had thrown a ball to celebrate.  Of course, every cashed up high flyer from solicialite to criminal had rushed to attend, and Karrde had sent them in search of some good deals.

“At midnight, the Corpse Flower will bloom and the Rift will open, bringing forth the dead.” The witch spoke the words like a mantra.  “A tear between this world and theirs, undead soldiers for the next great war.”

Luke pulled his hand from the stone and stepped back, adjusting the mask over his eyes.  To their great luck it was a masquerade ball, since as useful as he was in other situations, black market traders tended to clam up around Jedi, and it was best to keep their identities secret.    

“Well we better get ourselves a drink to toast their arrival,” Luke said, placing a hand on Mara’s back and leading her away.  The witch continued to watch them without blinking, and Mara couldn’t help be amused by her husband’s unease.

“She's got you good and spooked.” She poked Luke lightly in the side, but his face was grim.

“That's not it,” he said lowly, “something’s not right.”  

“Oh Luke,” she laughed. “It’s just a bunch of hocus pocus!”

No sooner had she spoken the words than she felt a chill creep up the back of her neck - a warning she couldn’t ignore.  The room went black and she felt Luke’s hand being pulled from her own as an unseen force pushed her to the ground. Mara clutched at her swollen belly, shielding her child from the fall as she looked up to a black sky that held no stars.  It seemed like a streak of lightning had been frozen there instead, bright and pulsating in the darkness - a rift waiting to be opened.

She heard a scream, and then realised it was her own.  


	2. Chapter 2

Mara was gone.  

Her hand had been pulled from his and he had lost sight of her; she had disappeared in an instant.  Luke tried to call her name but could not form the word, as if his voice had been wrenched from him.  He pressed a hand to his throat and looked around wildly for help, but no one in the crowd seemed to notice him, their attention commanded by the dozen and one witches encircling the corpse flower.  

They had begun to chant in a language he could not comprehend, moving slowly around the flower as if in a trance, their vermilion robes flowing unnaturally around them like waves of blood.  There were gasps in the crowd as the flower began to shift, as if in response to their spectre song; a couple nearby whispered their appreciation for the show.

 _It’s real_ , he tried to call out, to warn them, _run while you can_.  But still no sound came out, and nor could he move, as if his feet had taken root in the floor.  All he could do was watch, his gaze drawn to the flower, and the witches who had each taken places before the stone pillars that held the souls of their predecessors.  

The black-haired witch's gaze sought him out, and once his eyes were locked on hers he found himself unable to look away.  

 _Do you think we would let you interfere?_ Her voice, low and sinister, in his head.   _That we would not know the Sky Walker, that we would not sense the blood of our master's great enemy?_

 _What have you done with Mara?_ he thought desperately, trying to reach for the Force but finding the way blocked.  

 _She is safe,_ the witch promised, _she is chosen.  But you Sky Walker, we have marked you, and bound you._

Terror gripped him - what had Mara been chosen for, would she be able to protect herself and their child from such evil that had managed to subdue him?

Luke found himself able to move his hand, the same hand that he had pressed against the stone pillar and felt the ill will emanating from within; the same hand the witch had lain hers upon.  He brought it before his face, and saw a black mark in his palm, as if he had been burned, and on the back was a brand shaped exactly like the corpse flower. He looked back to the plant in horror, and saw that the petals, earlier clasped tightly against the stem, began to vibrate.  

“Welcome to those with dark hearts,” the head witch called out, her gaze now sweeping the room.  “Pledge service, and you will be graced with the gifts of our master. Refuse, and face that which awaits you in the Rift.”

The witches raised their arms up to the sky and began to chant once more, faster than before, their words bleeding into one another.  

“We call out to our dark master, our Lord,” the head witch raised her voice above her sister's chant.  “He who was unnamed, but not defeated, he who will rise again. Behold!”

Luke could only gaze in horror as the flower began to bloom, it’s petals unfurling to reveal a heart of blood-red and the overwhelming stench of death. The full stem of the flower was revealed, and Luke could just make out a humanoid shape writhing beneath, grotesque and not yet fully formed.  

There were gasps throughout the crowd mixed with appreciation and applause, no doubt still believing it was all some elaborate trick.  Luke tried desperately to move again, to call the Force to him, lost as to why he could not do so.

“Arise!” the witches called out in unison as the flower reached full bloom. “Arise!”

There was an ear-splitting crack from above, and finally a wave of fear passed through the crowd as they looked up through the open roof to the dark sky above.  Earlier it had been filled with stars, but they now seemed to be fading, as if slowly being swallowed by the darkness. There was light but it was of no comfort, streaks of electricity flowing between the witches, the corpse flower, and upwards into the night.  Thunder rumbled down upon them as the lightning streaked across the sky, growing and stretching like branches of a great tree.

“It’s the Rift!” someone in the crowd called out in terror, and others began to scream, finally realising that what they were seeing was not an act.

The being in the corpse flower writhed, struggling to free himself, as the witches chanted louder with lightning crackling between their fingertips.  Luke willed himself to move but he was entirely frozen, bound within his own body and where the Force could not reach him.

The Rift grew larger still, and that was when he heard the voices coming from the other side, saw a mist seep through and began to settle upon them.  Panic erupted as people screamed and tried to run, scrambling over one another to get to the doors which they found barred. Luke was helpless in the throng, unable to move, unable to do anything but watch as the mist began to take form.  

The witch had told him to beware what was waiting in the Rift, and he understood her words too late.  Friends he had among the dead, not demons, and so he had not heeded her warning, for he’d thought he’d had nothing to fear.  

How wrong he’d been, for the wraiths that took shape from the mist were those that had died at his hand, and there were millions.  They advanced on him, overwhelmed him, clawed at his skin and invaded his mind until he was drowning in their sorrow for the lives he had stolen from them, choking on their anger and revenge, and he could do nothing, he could not speak or raise a hand in his own defence.   

 _Mara_ , his heart cried out in desperation. _Mara, where are you?_


	3. Chapter 3

She was trapped on the other side of the Rift, unsure how and why she had been pulled across. The dead had swarmed around her, formless in the void, and she’d heard their voices, the screams of pain, the baying for blood, the anticipation of revenge.  When the Rift had opened ghostly stars appeared from the other side and the dead had surged towards the passage, leaving her alone.

Well, almost. A collection of spectres remained, milling about her ominously although they could not seem to become corporeal. But there was something else in the dark, something she was desperately trying to ignore in the hope that it was simply a trick of the mind, a witch’s spell and nothing more.

But she could _feel_ it, something unnatural and vile, and Mara pressed a hand to her belly protectively.  The child moved inside of her, as if it too was unsettled by the presence of evil.

_Mara Jade…_

The voice  was soft but sinister, and Mara took an automatic step back, reaching out to the Force to form protective barriers around her.

 _Mara Jade. Mara Jade_.

The ghostly mist began to chant her name as well, and she felt fear grip her heart when the Force would not answer her. It was there, but she felt no light to grasp, no positive emotion to fuel her gift; only darkness, anger and pain smothering all else.

But she had lived without the Force before, she had struggled and survived and never allowed her fear to overcome her. Marshalling that power and fortifying her own inner strength, Mara forced herself forward.  

“Who is it?” she called into the void, and thankfully her voice didn’t waver. “Who dares trap me here?”

A low rumble came from the darkness that could almost be laughter, if the creature who’d made it had been human. She strained her eyes to see what she had turned away from before, something shifting and moving as if formed by the darkness itself.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate a good magic show,” she continued with derision. “But this is little much, don’t you think?”  She waved a dismissive hand. “I mean ghosts, witches, ancient evil threatening to be released? Total cliche.”

“Do you not believe,” the voice was raspy, “what you see with your own eyes?”

“Show yourself to me,” she challenged, “and I might.”

The darkness folded in on itself, and then outwards again.  “Even here, only the dead can see me. But don’t worry my dear, soon I will take form.”

Mara looked up to the Rift across the ghostly stars - would this dark creature gather enough strength to get to the other side?  She tried to reach out to Luke, but even with the gateway opened she couldn’t reach him - it was up to her to stop this before it began.

“So the stories are true?” she asked, her first strategy to stall the creature.  “You were the Celestial who was unnamed?”

“I am the darkness that dwells in mortal hearts,” the Creature said, “I am the keeper of lost souls, the bearer of forbidden knowledge, slayer of false gods.”

Mara fought to urge to roll her eyes.  The spectres moved in the periphery, taking on more substantial form as they swirled closer. Her instinct was to flee, to break through the ghostly mist before they became corporeal, but she could not give ground. She could not run, she had to stop the creature before it went through the Rift.  At least if she let him blather on, it would delay him and give her time to form a plan.  

“Your legends have deceived you.” The Creature’s voice grew stronger, it seemed to come from all around her. “My kind created yours, and yet took no responsibility for you. Instead they pulled your strings from the shadows, too cowardly and selfish to share their power, the secrets of the universe.  I was the one who showed myself, I was the one who gave of my knowledge.”

Mara let him continue his speech while she searched for a weakness - the blaster strapped to her thigh was useless, and her connection to the Force muted.  If she could force a path through maybe she could launch herself back through the Rift and find a way to close it from the other side. At least there she would have Luke - hopefully - Mara feared what they had done to him.

“I offer you power beyond anything you’ve known, Mara Jade,” the Creature went on, and she snapped back to attention.  “All that has ever been denied you by codes and rules. Your heart has been tamed, but it can be freed again.”

“No thanks,” she spat back at him. “I’ve heard all of those promises before.”

“Indeed.” The Creature chuckled, and the sound reverberated in the spectres surrounding her. “You were a Witch of Fury once, even if you did not know it.”

Mara felt sick, bile rising in her throat.  She pressed a hand to her belly, trying to soothe the baby who tumbled and turned.

“Never again,” she promised, as much to herself as the Creature.

“It is your choice, but be warned my dear, you can either wield the dark power, or be consumed by it.”  There was a flash of red in the distorted darkness, and the spectral mist swirled closer around her. Mara closed her eyes and reached for her tenuous link to the Force, expanding it with love for her husband and unborn child, her determination that she would never again follow the dark path.  It worked, her mind flooding with relief and light, pushing back the creature from her mind.

When she opened her eyes the ghosts had retreated somewhat, kept at bay by her show of strength.  And yet they began to advance again, but this time she began to recognise faces.

“What a talented witch you were.” The creature’s voice was distant, but no less unsettling.  “What fine gifts you made me.”

They were her victims, she realised with horror, those she had killed at the behest of the Emperor.  The innocent and the guilty, those who had deserved it and those that had not, gathered together like at some kind of twisted convention of the damned.  Dozens of wraiths advancing on her, and countless more swirling in the mist that made up her own personal hell. And one whose face was far more familiar, mirroring that of the man she loved, whose death had freed her of the last command and perhaps the one life that she had never regretted taking.  

Mara closed her eyes, unable to see Luke’s face reflected in that of his dead clone, his soft features and kind eyes twisted in fury and hate against her.  She reached out to the Force again but her distress had made the link tenuous, and she was unable to summon the power to push them back more than a few metres as cold phantom fingers brushed against her.  

 _Please_ , she called out through the Force, to the last vestiges of light.   _Is there anyone out there?_

“Do you think the others will come?” the Creature taunted her.  “They have long abandoned you.”

“That’s not true,” she said, opening her eyes to the creature in the darkness now closing in on her.  Mara had been skeptical of the existence of Celestials beyond fairy tales, but even she had felt the power of the unknown.

“Yes, I feel the touch of the Serpent upon you.” The Creature let out a low hissing sound that sent a shiver up her spine.  “But even if one of them heard your pleas, they would not answer.”

“They don’t interfere, I get it.”  Mara wrapped her arms around her belly protectively; the time for distraction was over, she needed to act, grasping for the Force again.  “But you’re wasting your time on me.”

The Creature’s low, rumbling laugh surrounded her once more.  “My dear, _you_ were never my objective.”

With fresh horror Mara realised her terrible mistake. She thought she’d been delaying him, trying to show her strength, waiting for the right moment to attack, but that was what he had wanted. He’d been stalling her instead.

“I cannot breach the Rift in this form,” the Creature advanced and wraiths drew closer, forming a tight circle around her.  “I need a vessel, and what form better than the scion of my brethren who bound me? I have waited long for this victory, but finally it will be mine.”

Mara pulled away from his dark grip, from the ghostly grasp of the dead, and followed her first instinct, the one she had ignored to her cost.

She ran.


	4. Chapter 4

The Rift was fully open above them, a wound searing the sky above and more ghosts swarmed through, winding their way through the crowd until they identified their victim.  It was impossible to hear what they said, what words they chose as they reached out with spectral fingers, but he was surrounded by guests screaming for it to stop, crumpled on the floor in their finery, rocking back and forth with their hands over their ears, clawing at the locked doors or the ballroom until their fingers wept blood.    

Only Luke remained standing but he was shaking, the sheer number of his own ghosts overwhelming, the crimes they levied against him indefensible, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand the barrage.   

Few faces were familiar - and that fact alone cut him deeply; that he had taken the lives of so many, and never even known what they looked like.  A Jedi fought in close quarters; they fought with lightsabers to give their opponents the honour of facing a challenge directly. But those that had died on the Death Star had been afforded no such courtesy; their lives snuffed out without ever realising they were in danger, or given the chance to escape.  

Luke had never been a pacifist.  Even after he had renounced the role as soldier, he’d always accepted the necessity pf violence in the defence of himself or others.  He would take that shot to destroy the Death Star again in a heartbeat, but it seemed to make little difference when surrounded by the cost of that decision - thousands of men and women, some little more than children, their lives over before they had really begun.  

He could not block his ears to their accusations - that he was more terrorist than freedom fighter, that he dealt in death and judgement so easily, and yet dare to call himself a servant of the light.

He saw a boy no more than sixteen, his youth and fear hidden behind a stormtroopers helmet as he’d died, but now revealed for Luke to see. He felt condemned by it, accused - what right had Luke had to end the boy’s life?  Had he been a rebel his death would have served as a rallying cry, a condemnation of the brutality of the Empire, but as an Imperial pressed into service his death was hailed as justice.

He recognised some faces of course, although few of those he mourned and their accusations touched him less.  Those ghosts could not seem to get as close to him - it was the innocent lives, the collateral damage, the wasteful deaths, that passed through him like shards of ice, that pulled at his clothes, his hair, raking their sharp crystalline fingernails across his skin to draw the blood that was owned them.  

He saw Cronal in the distance, head thrown back in laughter, melmassif leaking from every orifice.  It was an oily black substance, sprouting shadow webs that multiplied and crept over flesh and skin, spreading across the ballroom and connecting all of his ghosts with their glossy strands.

Luke tasted bile as Mindor flooded back to him, a time he’d rather forget.  Behind Cronal was his army of black stormtroopers, their armour encased with melmassif, the shadows webs spun across their bared faces.  He saw the horror in their eyes, the agony as the melmassif melted them from the inside, seeping out from every pore until they were a liquified black mass, a boiling sea of putrified dead.  

He’d felt all those deaths before; a mercy killing, or so Geptun had sold it in his ridiculous holothriller, thousands of deaths to save millions of others.  Luke had never forgiven himself, he’d grown weary of calculating death, subtracting the lives he took from those he saved and comforting himself when there was a remainder.  Moving on the to the next challenge, the next calculation - the futility of every victory.

The black wave crested over him and Luke did not even try to stop it.  The force of it pushed him to his knees and he felt as if his skin was melting off his bones, coming off in chunks as the other spectres continued to claw at him like vultures.  He cried out in agony as he was submerged by the wave, the liquified melmassif filling his mouth and lungs, drowning his screams and burning out his eyes.

He was back in the Dark.  But this time, he was not so young and confidant, could not draw from within himself the white fountain of light like he had on Mindor.  He felt the Force again, but it was so faint, like a whisper.

_You are not afraid of the dark._

Kar Vastor’s words from so long ago - Luke had pondered them endlessly, feeling as if they would never be true, that he would never understand what others saw in him.  But the voice was not Vastor’s, yet it was familiar, resonating inside him like an echo.

Desperately, he reached out into the Force, what remaining tendrils of light he could grasp. Was there a friend somewhere out there in the void?

 _Luke._  

“Father?” His mouth was filled with melmassif, his body slowly melting away into the black sea, but his mind was still there, his soul still grasping for that last sliver of hope.

 _Luke, come to me_   

The voice was not Anakin’s, but so nearly resembled it that Luke felt an immediate kinship.  With his last ounce of strength he reached up, breaching the surface of the melmassif to feel a hand grasping his and pulling him from the dark sea into the light.  

*

Everything was calm.

Luke opened his eyes, relieved that he still had them, although there was not much to see except a void of endless white.  He touched his face, his hair, checking to make sure he still had all his limbs, and found himself completely whole.

With one exception - the dark brand in the shape of the corpse flower was still burned into his palm, so he knew he could not be dead, nor had he truly escaped.  

“Only a reprieve, I’m afraid.” His rescuer with the familiar voice stood before him.  At first glance he might have mistaken the man for Anakin Skywalker as the resemblance was striking, and yet the man before him was otherworldly; his hair lighter, his features sharper, and yet he did not seem quite corporeal. Luke could only conclude that it was not a man at all.  

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am, as sure you know your own self.” His voice was light, as if carried on a breeze.

“You’re a Celestial.” Luke had heard enough stories about them now to draw the conclusion. “Although which one, I don’t know.”

“You will not find my name in your legends,” he said. “I was wiped from all memory; stripped from all story and verse.”

“You were unnamed.” Luke’s eyes narrowed; could this be some kind of trick, a friendly face masking the demon within?

“Oh, I have a name,” the Celestial smiled.  “In fact I share it with you.”

Luke blinked, and looked over the creature again, a being of pure Force energy, from a time before it had a name.  And yet he resembled his father so closely, had he simply chosen such a form so that Luke would trust him, or had the past year following the paths of the Celestials all been leading to this, to the truth about his own history?

“My name is Sídhiúl,” The Celestial took a step forward, although his movements were so smooth he appeared to be gliding through the air.  “In the language of my kind at least. Translated into your tongue, it means The Sky Walker.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open, unable to form an articulate response, and still not certain this was not some kind of trick.  But he recalled reading in Obi-Wan’s journals of conversations he’d had with his own master Qui-Gon, how he had believed the boy Anakin was the Chosen One, and that he may have been born by the will of the Force itself.  Shmi had been reluctant to discuss Anakin’s parentage, and had only told Qui-Gon that there was no father, and she could not explain how he had been conceived.

“The Sky Walker,” Luke repeated, searching Sídhiúl’s face again, searching for the reflections of his own.  “Why haven’t I heard of you before?”

“I am not the oldest of my kind,” Sídhiúl answered in that same light voice, “but close to it.  I was born in the heart of a star, as all of us were. The first children of a cold and empty galaxy, the first life to fill it.  I was the breeze that blew through the expanse of space, forging passages between stars and systems and planets. When you travel through the hyperspace lanes, you follow the paths forged by my breath.”

“Unlike most of my brethren, I did not choose a home to settle upon; I had no lifemate and no children to form mountains and forests and seas of a planet, no sentient life to shape and mold and watch over.  I was a wanderer, and so I grew strong without expending my energy on the forging of landscapes and the nurturing of mortals.”

Sídhiúl’s serene countenance seemed to take on a kind of sadness, and Luke wondered whether it was laced with regret.

“So when the Celestial Wars came I was our greatest soldier and champion.  I was like you, Luke,” he smiled. “Singular in my focus, aware of my duty and purpose, and determined to carry it out.”

Luke shifted, uncomfortable with the comparison and the obvious, almost fatherly, pride in Sídhiúl’s voice, as he looked at him with blue eyes that mirrored his own.  

“Also like you, it was when I grew the most weary of the endlessness of existence, that I fell in love.”

“Shmi.”  Luke only knew his grandmother through Owen’s stories, with the exception of Beru and perhaps himself, Shmi was the only other person that his uncle loved.  His devotion had been a full and vibrant as any natural born son, and he’d spoken wistfully of her sometimes, often after indulging in the local moonshine. His eyes had been wet as he’d stared into the middle distance and called her _a gentle soul_.    

“She was remarkable.”  Sídhiúl smiled more broadly, and it was in that moment he looked most like Anakin.  “I had never known anyone like her - mortal or otherwise. I took on a human form so I could talk to her, she thought me a slave like her at first, but it didn’t take her long to learn who I truly was.  It did not daunt her, she thought of herself as my equal - took my name for her own, claimed herself as my mate.”

“I wish I’d known her,” Luke said softly.  He’d said the same thing about his own mother once, that same ache of longing that holos and remembrances from others could not fill.  

“I did not know it was possible to sire a child on a human woman,” Sídhiúl continued, “even with all my wisdom, the universe continues to surprise me.”

So there is was - Anakin’s father had not been the Force, but a being close enough to it Luke supposed it made little difference.  That made him and Leia the grandchildren of Celestials, a piece of that ancient race flowed through his veins, and he thought both delighted and frightened him.  

“What happened?” he asked, for the moment forgetting the crisis back on Helel, swept away in the story of his heritage.

“The others discovered my transgression of course,” Sídhiúl said as if it was obvious.  “We are not permitted to interfere with the lives of the lower orders. They took all memory of me from her mind, from the minds of my followers, and erased all mention of me from written texts, as if I had never existed. Poor Shmi.” He looked askance, sorrow passing over his face. “All she knew was that she carried a child, and not where he came from, unable to draw comfort from the knowledge he had been conceived in love.”

Luke couldn’t imagine her terror, the terrible conclusions she must have drawn.  Yet she’d shown such strength in mothering her child; if there was one thing that had dominated Anakin’s writings, it was love for his mother.

“But on Corellia,” Luke questioned, his mind drawing back to months earlier, “they have a story of a Celestial who fell in love with a mortal man.  That was not erased.”

“Ah, but if you recall we killed him,” Sídhiúl said far too matter of fact for Luke’s liking. “But Shmi was with child and they would never destroy an innocent life - even one who was never meant to be.”

Luke wasn’t comforted by the knowledge, since surely Shmi had been innocent also, but didn’t press the point.  The Celestials were an ancient and noble race, holding the secrets of the universe, and yet it seemed they could be as cold and petty as the mortal races they had nurtured.     

"And you let them do that to her?" he questioned, incredulous.

"I had little choice," Sídhiúl almost seemed to shrug.  "All I could do was watch over her, and her child.  As I watch over you now."

Suddenly Sídhiúl didn’t seem so empyreal; Luke saw the flaws behind the sublime, the light and dark like any other creature in the universe, like the Force itself.  Luke was grateful for his assistance, but his mind was brought sharply back to the reason he had needed it.  

“Mara,” he whispered to himself.  She was still a captive of the witches and the dark master they served; first he had almost let himself be consumed by his own sorrow, and was now wasting time he didn’t have.  

“Send me back,” he said urgently, showing Sídhiúl the mark on his hand.  “I have to find my wife - I have a child too, and they’re in danger.”

Sídhiúl looked at him curiously.  “We may not be able to speak again, I risk everything by contacting you now.  This may be your only chance to know the truth about your past - for me to share with you the secrets of the universe.”

“I don’t care,” Luke swiped his hand outward.  “I can’t abandon them, no matter what.”

Sídhiúl smiled, but there was an air of great sadness about him, as if he had dreamed on this moment many times and it had not gone at all as expected.  “Very well," he said, drawing close to him. "I hope when you tell your child about this meeting, you are kind to me.”

He took Luke’s hand, long pale fingers brushing against the brand on his palm.  

“I was the one to defeat our enemy on Helel - it was my blood that bound him,” he said, pressing down on the brand.  “And so my blood who can defeat him now.”

Luke felt himself slipping away, drifting back down onto the mortal plane, back to the agony and torment of the dead.  But he could still see Sídhiúl’s face, could feel his hand holding onto him, a touchstone of light above him, within him.

“You too have the heart of a star inside of you too, Luke,” Sídhiúl called as he faded away.  “You create your own light.”

*  

He was back in the ballroom and the melmassif sea had washed away, leaving a hardened black sheen beneath his feet.  The ghosts had receded back into a white mist, but many guests were still cowering on the floor in obvious pain, and others were not moving at all.  

But Luke’s gaze was drawn to the Corpse Flower which had fully bloomed, the petals curled and withering around the feet of a figure who had been revealed.  The witches were on the knees in worship, still chanting, pledging their service and devotion to their master who stood proud and tall, hands on her rounded belly and eyes burning red.  

It was Mara.    


	5. Chapter 5

The temperature in the ballroom had risen, as hot as if they were surrounded by the bursting volcanoes and lava rivers of Mustafar.  The fearful screams of the tormented guests turned to those of agony as they writhed on the floor, pulling off their clothes but unable to escape the heat.  

Even Luke, for whom a desert felt comfortably warm, found the heat unbearable.  It was not simply the temperature in the room that was rising, he was cooking from within, as if his internal organs had turned molten and his blood was boiling.  But Luke suspected it was another trick, like the attack from the spectres and the melmassif sea - he’d felt as if he was dying then, as if his flesh had been stripped away but after his trip to  Sídhiúl’s astral plane he had returned to a body fully intact.  

He looked at his palm for confirmation - the brand had disappeared, and the Force had returned to him.  Luke closed his eyes and reached out; he could see dark red tendrils reaching from the corpse flower like vines of blood, attaching themselves to everyone in the room and pulsing as they leeched life through the horrors they created in their minds.  There were two wrapped around his own legs, keeping his feet bond to the floor. 

He pulled the Force to him, drawing on that reservoir of light within him, unimpeded by the ghosts of his past whose spectral forms burned away in the brilliance of his star-heart, their souls enfolded within his own so they were not forgotten, but simply freed from their wraith form.  He reached out, following the blood vines of the corpse flower that held the other guests in their deadly grip, siphoning their lifeforce and slowly turning them into spectres themselves. 

Luke thought of the first time he’d gone swimming; he, Leia and Han splashing each other in the shallows before they’d patiently shown him how to stay afloat, submerging himself in the cool water and the joy at his accomplishment.  He thought of the cool forest breezes of Endor, high in the trees of the Ewok camp as they celebrated their ultimate victory, of seeing the face of his father freed from the dark prison he’d encased himself in for so long. He thought of the caves on Niaruan, cool and damp, where he and Mara had confronted and revealed their love for each other, water clinging to them as they had kissed in the aftermath of the flooding.      

The temperature of the room cooled, and the guests stopped writhing and instead let out signs of relief as he enveloped them with cooling light.  Their supply cut off, the blood vines stopped pulsing and fell limp to the floor. With a flick of his wrists Luke severed them from their food sources, and he heard a shriek of pain.  

He opened his eyes to see Mara - no, not Mara - the creature who was possessing her, face contorted with rage.  She was a flame beast come to life, red hair flowing unnaturally around her life a cloud, fire in her eyes and skin glowing like embers.  There was nothing Luke recognised in her, her body was a vessel only.

“Mara,” her name was torn from his throat and he ran to her, but the witches closed ranks around the corpse flower, their red robes transformed into flame, a circle of heat and fire that pushed him back.  Luke reached out desperately through the Force, latching onto the Mara-place in the back of his mind - the link was tenuous, but she was there, and he followed it to where the creature stood behind the barrier of flame.  His attention was drawn to her swollen belly, where he could sense the entirety of Mara’s Force presence cocooned around their child. She’d retreated, unable to stop the creature possessing her body but unwilling to be defeated, focusing all her energy on protecting the baby, so the Creature could not touch her.   

“That’s who you want,” Luke said, lifting his eyes to meet the Creature’s.  “My daughter.”

“The scion of the Sky Walker,” the Creature answered in Mara’s voice, twisted almost beyond recognition.  “I will take his strength for my own, my last victory over him, and my first of this new era.”

“No,” Luke said, anguished.  “You can’t have her.”

The Creature tilted Mara’s head back and laughed.  “What do you imagine you can do to stop me? You will not hurt this vessel, and when I am reborn in the child you will not harm her either.”

“You are going to leave that body,” Luke ordered through clenched teeth.  “And you will never get near my daughter.”

“The Jade witch cannot shield the child forever,” the Creature’s eyes flashed.  “No one possesses that kind of strength.”

“You don’t know my wife, do you?”  Luke advanced on the ring of fire, and the witches closed ranks around the Creature.  “You really made a big mistake here,” he said conversationally as he drew closer, the heat making him sweat.  “You guys just can’t help yourselves, can you? It’s always about luring your enemies in and making a big show of trapping them, never content with a small but subtle victory, no.  You make the big power play, you go for the big flashy revenge plot.  But it’s about the backfire on you.” He allowed himself a small chuckle. “Pardon the pun.”

With a sweep of his hands Luke cast aside the witches; they went tumbling to the floor with cries of surprised and impotence, their protection ring broken.  The flames still burned around the corpse flower, growing in size and intensity, licking at Luke’s hands and feet in warning but he was past such cares. He launched himself through the fire, throwing his arms around Mara’s body and locking her in his embrace.  The Creature shrieked in protest but was not yet at full strength, only possessing Mara’s body but unable to tap into her power which she kept wrapped around the child in her belly. 

Luke was on fire and this time the flames were real, racing over his clothes and alighting on his exposed skin.  But he did not let go - could not let go - he would draw this demon out and would not accept failure.

_ Mara _ , he called as he closed his eyes and reached for her through the Force.  _ I need your help _ .  

He touched her presence, asking to let him join with her, to trust him that this was the only way.  She was reluctant to relinquish any control; she had swaddled the child so tightly with herself she feared to open a path would allow the Creature in as well.  

_ I know it’s a risk _ , he told her, trying to stave off the pain from the fire than ran down his arms and back.   _ But we have to do this together.  Trust me. _

_ I do _ came her answer, and in an instant she allowed him in, the full force of her presence luminescent as it merged with his.  He could feel the child as well, their daughter, a tiny spark of light almost ready to be kindled, to burst forth into the world.

_ Not yet, little one _ , Luke cocooned himself around her, he and Mara forming an unbreakable barrier around her infant spirit.   _ I so want to meet you, but not yet.  _

He heard Mara singing, an old lullaby from her childhood perhaps, a lost memory in the back of her mind, rediscovered in this new state, in the mysterious plane between conception and birth.  It soothed the child and Luke joined in, their minds as one and voices raised in common purpose. 

The Creature’s every attack rebounded, and Luke felt the fire of his rage, that he had been the conqueror of thousands of worlds, had held dominion over millions of hearts, and yet he could not breach a mere two, could not take a child not yet fully formed into his possession.  

But it was not enough to keep the Creature at bay, nor to simply bind him as Sídhiúl had done in the past.  He must be destroyed, his dark heart expunged from the universe that no longer had a place for him. Could Celestials be killed?  Luke wasn’t sure, but he knew he could not allow the Creature to gain a foothold into their galaxy, to bring war and destruction to all he held dear.  

The blood of Celestials ran through Luke’s veins; Sídhiúl had told him he possessed the heart of a star.  But that wasn’t what made him strong, Luke decided. It was his human heart that held his true power, that fuelled his light.  The blood of Shmi, kind and good and worthy, Anakin, courageous and mighty and resolute, Padmé, brave and virtuous and true. That was the legacy he would pass onto his daughter, the strength he already saw in his sister and her children.  It was something with all of their knowledge and power the Celestials lacked, the wisdom and joy that came from living a mortal life, a finite life, where each moment was to be cherished. 

_ Don’t forget me _ .  Mara’s voice in his mind, sardonic as ever, and Luke felt his power surge, as it always did with her presence.  

_ I could never.  _  For their child was also half Jade, half of his beloved who was smart and keen and inviolable.  Together, theirs was a strength Sídhiúl lacked when he bound the Creature the first time, and as they merged together fully to become a single entity, a beacon in the Force to drown out all darkness that attempted to draw near.  

The Creature screamed as they attacked, and he was pushed back and ripped from Mara’s body.  She surged back into her own mind, and Luke held her tighter, the flames around them dying down.  Above them the Rift was still open, but there was a growing light from within and an answering call in his own heart.  

“Sídhiúl,” Luke whispered, understanding what his ancestor wanted from him.  

The Creature was dark and formless, floating in the air around them, screeching in pain and flailing about for a new vessel.  Luke looked at Mara and nodded, and they both reached out their hands, drawing on their combined Force strength to push the Creature up towards the building light above.  

It was almost there when the Creature gave a final, desperate heave back down, and Luke strained to keep it in place.  Mara swore beside him but kept her strength aligned with his, neither willing to back down for a second. Then they were joined by another presence, small but with a power of its own, an echo of himself and Mara, and yet something entirely new.  

A tiny spark.

The three of them together, their family love, burned through the Creature’s remaining fire, thrusting him into the light of the Celestial plane and into the arms of his ancient enemy. 

And then it was over.  The Rift closed, the light folded in on itself and disappeared, and Luke and Mara held each other and a tight embrace, their child’s presence curling back into the womb.  Some of the guests were starting to revive, checking on each other and calling for medical assistance. The witches had lost their power, and they covered on the floor, helpless and sobbing.  

“Luke,” Mara’s voice had thankfully returned to normal, but was full of worry.  “Are you alright?”

It was almost like an afterthought, his singed clothes, raw, burned skin, and the ashy smell.  But then the full brunt of it hit him, nerve endings aflame as the agony of intense heat ripped through him, lungs full of black smoke as he realised he couldn’t speak.  

Luke fell from Mara’s embrace and to the ground, with only a glimpse of the starry night above before the darkness claimed him.  


	6. Chapter 6

Mara had always hated medwards.  They were too bright, too exposing, and impossible to hide within.  As the Emperor’s Hand ending up there meant failure; a beating at the hands of a training bot or injury during a mission, or worse still, punishment inflicted by order of her Master.  Waking up in that cold, white room - for they always looked the same - carried with it a sense of self-loathing and dread far worse than any lingering pain from the cause of her hospitalisation.  

Rarely had she cause to visit the medward otherwise, having no loved ones and few friends, and even in the latter case they did not seem to expect her to visit when sick or injured.  She’d thus successfully avoided them for many years, but Mara supposed when one was the wife of Luke Skywalker she could not expect that luck to last.

The medward on Yavin IV was exactly like all the others, a stark white room filled with monitoring equipment and treatment devices, although they had only one meddroid to act as nurse since Cilghal preferred to attend to the healing herself.  Mara had recently become quite well acquainted with the room, curled up in an armchair she’d had transferred from their cottage so she could at least be comfortable as she kept up her vigil.

Luke had been in a Force-induced coma for weeks, longer than he’d ever needed to recover from anything.  But his injuries had been severe, Mara knew that without Cilghal needing to tell her, for she’d felt the pain through their bond which even now lingered so far removed from the inciting incident.  He’d been burned from the inside out and by no ordinary flame - the Creature had left his mark and Luke had borne the full brunt of it.

Mara touched her hand to her belly - she was less than two months to her time now, and could feel the child slowly forming.  The connection had always been there, but since she and Luke had joined with her young soul to drive the Creature out that bond had strengthened, and Mara could be sure that the child had suffered no ill effects from the Corpse Flower.  

Possession by the Creature still haunted her, the memory of the dark Celestial making free with her body, turning her own hand against her husband.  It made her shiver, and brought terrors in the night and fear for her child, for the world of danger than awaited her. Safe in her womb, Mara knew she could protect her daughter from any danger, wrap her own lifeforce around the child so that no harm could ever come to her.  But once born that power diminished, and fear came from the knowledge that while a mother’s love was boundless, her protection was not. 

She’d asked Leia how to quell the dread, to make peace with such distress.  Her sister-in-law had smiled and said that one could not, that she must use it instead.  Not from a place of true fear, lashing out indiscriminately at any perceived threat, but from a place of strength, in trust of ones own instincts and belief that any challenge would be well met, and overcome.  

Mara knew she couldn’t do it alone - once she would have baulked at such a thought, thinking that need made her weak.  But now she was older and less proud, accepting that she and Luke were stronger together than they ever could be apart - as they had proved so many times, and now again against the Creature.  

She reached for his hand; it was warm, not from the burns that had mostly healed, but his own natural heat that was always a few degrees above the average.  It reminded her that despite his prone form in the bed, he truly was alive, and coming to her. Mara could feel it in the Luke-place at the back of her mind; he was straining towards consciousness, reaching for her hand and she squeezed it in return, pulling him towards her.  

First his pinky finger twitched, and Mara shifted from her chair to sit on the bed facing him, keeping hold of his hand.  Then his mouth opened slightly, his tongue clucking as he tasted the air drawn in through chapped lips. Finally his eyelids moved to allow a sliver of light through, and he flinched at what no doubt was intrusive brightness.

“Luke,” she said softly, leaning forward with her free hand to cup his face.  “It’s alright, I’m here.”

“Mara?” His voice was ragged from disuse, but he opened his eyes fully, blinking into the light. 

“Welcome back.” She caressed his cheek with her thumb.  “How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Luke admitted, looking around the room.  “Where I am?”

“Home,” she assured him.  “A New Republic cruiser responded to the distress call from Helel, and thankfully their medical facilities were sufficient to treat everyone who had been attacked - there were no casualties.”

Luke sighed.  “Good. What about you, and the baby?”

Mara took his hand and pressed it to her belly.  “We’re both fine,” she assured him, “we’ve been waiting for you quite a while now.”

“Sorry to keep you.” Luke smiled weakly.

“I’ll let it slide this time,” she squeezed his hand lightly.  “Did you...see anyone while you were out?”

Their minds have merged so closely that she’d seen his conversation with Sídhiúl as clearly as if it was her own memory.  She’d spent the past weeks dwelling over it, having little else to do while she kept up her vigil. It was exactly the reason why she had never sought out her own ancestry, as she didn’t want the expectation or burden that came with it merely because she shared a sliver of their genetic material.  Mara knew she was and didn’t need any further scope to herself; she was a seed fallen far from her family tree, and would be no stronger to grow backwards towards it. But she understood Luke’s yearning; it had been start of his journey and she felt a part of him would not fully rest until it was the end of it.     

“No.” Luke looked away and sighed.  “I don’t think he’ll be able to breach the barrier again.”

“What and interfere with us _ lower orders _ ?” Mara scowled.  “Pity.”

“Well we Skywalkers can be prone to arrogance.” The corner of Luke’s mouth lifted.  “I guess that’s where we get it from.”

“I suppose when you inherit a kriff-load of midichlorians you get a few flaws as well.”  She looked down at her rounded belly. “And I’m not exactly known for my humility, so our daughter’s going to get a double dose.”

“We’ll keep her grounded,” Luke said with a smile, the double meaning of the name Sky Walker clearly not lost on him.  

“Perhaps it gets better every generation,” Mara considered, “you’re over confident sometimes, and reckless, but I don’t think anyone would call you arrogant.”

Luke chuckled. “Clearly you’ve never heard Borsk Fey’la on the subject.”  

“I do make a point never to listen to Fey’la if I can help it.”

“I’m glad I met him,” Luke said, sobering slightly.  “Sídhiúl. Another piece in the puzzle.”

“It was somewhat a heavy price.” Mara squeezed his hand again, and didn’t need to express how worried she’d been.  

“Yes, I could have done without half my skin burning off.” Luke examined his arms, healed but still pink and tender.  “But I suppose it’s not a Skywalker family reunion until someone gets set on fire.”

Mara laughed, shifting to lay down beside him, settling into the crook of his shoulder as he put an arm around her.  “Not a tradition we need to maintain I think.”

“No,” Luke agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  “I’m happy for that one to end with me.” 

“So I guess this means you’re part Celestial,” Mara mused.  “It would explain a lot.”

Luke chuckled. “You mean all those times you accused me of being not quite human, you were actually right?”

“My superior insight at work,” she smiled.  “Of course it’s nothing compared to being descended from an immortal race of super-beings…”

Luke’s chest vibrated from laughter, and he pulled her closer.  “Don’t get jealous now.” 

“Hmph.”  Mara turned to face him, propping up her chin on his chest.  She sensed that his mood had shifted, his thoughts dwelling on his heritage.  “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I suppose.” Luke’s gaze lifted to the ceiling.  “I’m glad I know - it may explain a few things, but it doesn’t change anything.  I just keep thinking about Shmi - how strong she was, despite everything they took from her.  She’s the kind of Skywalker I want to be.”

Mara was impressed by how quickly he seemed to have made peace with it all, clearly the time in his healing trance had given him the opportunity for reflection. 

“Speaking of Skywalkers, I have some good news for you.” She lifted herself up to sit on the bed again.  “You have a new niece.”

“Really?” His face lit up, cracked lips drawing into a wide smile that quickly turned bittersweet.  “And I missed it.”

“Well technically you were there,” Mara nodded towards the other medcot that occupied the room, now empty.  

“Were there complications?” Luke looked distressed, pulling himself up into a seated position.  

“No,” Mara assured him.  “They’re both well. I think she just wanted to be near you.”  Leia had been at Luke’s beside almost as much as Mara, and they had given each other strength to occupy those long hours of waiting.  Even though Leia had always preferred to give birth in the comfort of her own quarters, when her time came she wouldn’t be moved from Luke’s side. 

As if on cue, the woman herself appeared at the doorway, a swaddled newborn on her arms. Her hair was unbound and she was barefoot; no doubt she’d felt Luke awaken and made immediately for the medward.

“Luke,” she breathed as she crossed the room, and Mara vacated her position at his side, sinking once again into the armchair by the bed. 

“Thank the Mother,” Leia shifted her child to one arm so she could reach out to touch Luke’s face  “We were so worried.” 

“I’m fine,” he assured her as Leia clucked over him, checking him over as diligently as any medic, all while holding her sleeping baby in one arm.  

“Leia,” he laughed, swatting her hand away when he’d had enough.  “Stop fussing.”

“I’m your sister, it’s my prerogative,” she told him, but she was smiling, evidently satisfied that he was recovered.  Shifting the child in her arms again, Leia showed her to Luke. 

“I’d like you to meet your niece,” she said, and relinquished the child into his waiting arms.  Luke gazed down at the tiny face in wonder, and from her armchair Mara smiled and rubbed her belly.  

“Just five days old,” Leia continued, “I thought she might wait for you, but I’m afraid she was a little impatient.”

“She’s beautiful Leia.”  Luke stroked the child’s cheek softly, and she responded by opening her clear blue eyes to stare into his.  Perhaps she recognised his face or sensed his presence as something familiar, for she did not cry but simply gazed up at Luke as contentedly as he looked down at her.  

“What’s her name?”

“Aldeeria,” Leia told him; an old Alderaanian name meaning mother’s gift - rather fitting in Mara’s opinion, for a child who had been conceived at a fertility festival.  

“Aldeeria Organa-Solo,” Luke smiled down at the child. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“We’ve been calling her Dee for short,” Mara spoke up, as the full name had seemed too formal for the little girl.  

Luke chuckled, holding out his finger for her to grab with one tiny hand.  Leia put one hand to her heart as she watched them, her fear that they would never meet finally put to rest.  

“Well little Dee,” Luke cooed at the child.  “Have I got a story for you…” 


End file.
